


here is tomorrow (just past the sunrise)

by VolxdoSioda



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Loyalty, Lucis loses the war, Noctis remains in Tenebrae post-Marilith, shield!Loqi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 08:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: That day, a bullet had caught Regis in the shoulder, and Noctis had been left behind with Luna and Ravus in the aftermath of Niflheim's invasion.Ten years later, it's another TV appearance for the sake of keeping Lucis from doing anything rash, and Loqi Tummelt stopping another bullet from taking his life.





	here is tomorrow (just past the sunrise)

**LT @ 8:24 P.M:** Don’t forget you have an interview in the morning. I’ll be coming by at 6 to pick you up. Don’t sleep in, or I’ll make you regret it.   
  


**NLC @ 8:33 P.M:** That a threat?

**LT @ 8:34 P.M:** No, that’s a promise. If you think I won’t toss your ass in the pond again to wake you up, that’s a mistake you won’t make twice. Interview. 6 AM. Be ready to be out the door when I get there.

**NLC @ 8:35 P.M:** Ugh, fine. General Blowhard.

**LT @ 8:35 P.M:** Your Royal Bitchiness.

**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

If he’s honest with himself, he’s grown to somewhat hate dealing with people. 

The cameras are a given. People want photos of him, video feeds, images they can splash across newspapers with some big hook of a title to drag him down. The last one was some scandal piece about how the Crown Prince of Lucis was apparently fond of  _ fishing  _ \- like there was a scandal to enjoying hobbies that didn’t involve kissing ass or shaking hands with bigwigs in front of flashing lights.

Once he would have found freedom in mingling with regular people as just another face on the street. Now, there’s only three people he enjoys mingling with like that, and two of them he rarely sees despite living in the same mansion, and the one he does, well… he’s not exactly a  _ regular  _ person. 

Then again, neither is he.

Convincing himself to get up is hard, and the only way he does is it with the knowledge that Loqi will be by in two hours time to pick him up. As per usual, the mansion Noctis has come to call his home alongside Luna and Ravus is utterly silent; Luna is currently off fulfilling her calling as the Oracle, and Ravus hasn’t been home in months. 

Not like having  _ him  _ home would be much better than having him gone - Ravus has gotten it in his head that all blame for current events is to be laid squarely at his feet, and the last time he’d been home they’d gotten into a screaming row that had escalated to the point of needing Loqi to drag Noctis away, and Caligo escorting Ravus out, a furrow in his brow. No doubt Luna is aware of it, and ready to take Ravus’ side on the whole matter. 

He washes face and hair, irons his clothes, and cooks his breakfast. By the time 6 AM rolls around the the traditional knock at the door sounds, Noctis is looking every inch the Prince he once was - the only difference is that the color of the clothes he wears fit more to  _ Niflheim,  _ rather than Insomnia. Still, there’s nothing for Aldercapt to complain about, or anyone else for that matter. Even if there were, he wouldn’t much care, but Loqi would, and what matters to Loqi matters to him by virtue of Loqi’s opinion being the only one he gives a single damn about.

Noctis dries his hands on a towel and goes to open the door. Loqi’s eyebrow quirks when he appears, and steps back to allow Loqi in. “Well what do you know, you actually bothered waking up on time.”

Noctis hums, and allows Loqi to circle him, carefully examining every aspect of his clothing. Here now is the difficult part of the day, because Loqi has truely high standards, not only for himself, but for his ward as well. If he’s dissatisfied with a single article of Noctis’ clothing, its back upstairs to change he’ll go.

But Loqi hums, pleased, after only a couple loops. “The blue tie and cufflinks were a good choice. The matching earring as well.”

“Thanks.” Even parted as they are, Noctis wears his small honors to Luna and Ravus where and when he can. Usually its allowed, but sometimes Aldercapt wants him in nothing but Empire colors. Those days Loqi usually has to drag him out of bed and help him dress, because otherwise Noctis won’t do it. He hates the Empire for holding his survival above his dad’s head like a guillotine, for robbing so many of their freedom. Hates Ravus for finding solace in blaming his dad and him for everything and joining the Empire as a result when they’re just as much a victim in this as they are.

Still, by far this is the easiest part. Finding Loqi’s approval has become a part of Noctis’ life - that’s the trade off for Loqi keeping him alive out there, beneath the gaze of the Empire. Loqi gives him shield and sword, and in turn Noctis wears clothing he likes seeing and acts responsibly and takes care of his image. It’s a good trade, even if it seems a bit lopsided at times with how much Loqi has to protect him. It turns out there are a lot of men on the Empire’s payroll that want him dead, and Aldercapt won’t do anything to stop them - Noctis isn’t precisely as valuable as he once was, anymore.

“Come along then,” Loqi says, and just like that the masks are up, their roles in place. Noctis bows his head, allows Loqi’s hand on his lower back to guide him out of his home and back into the cold winter airs of Altissia. There are cameras, but they are closer to the street this time - probably because Caligo Uldor is standing by the car with a scowl of such black intensity that trying to go around him would likely be the very last thing anyone does.

The Captain gives him a curt little nod of approval when Loqi arrives with him, and as usual Loqi slides into the car first, followed by Noctis, and then Caligo. When he’d been younger, riding between the Empire’s generals had been terrifying, and Noctis had locked up as soon as he’d sat down, not daring to breathe wrong for fear of attracting their ire. It’s only after so long of being here that he knows that much like Loqi, Caligo Uldor is a man with far too many wounds and not nearly enough curatives to fix it all. 

“Those persistent vultures,” Caligo snarls beneath his breath as the car begins to move. He puts on a mimic of a high-pitched whiny voice. “ _ Why can’t we see the Prince? When will the address be made?  _ Whenever you fools have the mind to  _ move  _ so that we can get to the car, that’s when.”

Noctis hums; Caligo tends to use the downtime between moves to vent his frustrations, and he’s learned that merely making an acknowledging noise goes a long way to defuse the man’s temper. It turns out the higher your station in the Empire, the fewer sympathetic ears you have to talk to. But Noctis, even a foreign Prince that he is, is above them in station, which means he’s often the one they turn to for respite. Even Aranea does it, whenever she comes around.

“At least they didn’t try to crawl into my window this time,” Noctis says, and Uldor’s lip curls further. “Or you know, take pictures of me while I was in the shower.”

“Do not remind me of that,” Loqi mutters from his other side. “Were it not for our standing orders, they would have lost their heads that day.”

“More than that,” Caligo sneers. “Disembowelment would have been a fitting punishment.”

There’s a strangeness to their natures, because for all that they are the Empire’s men, they treat Noctis as one of their own in these little private spaces. Caligo acts less like the proud military man and more the eternally vexed general that can’t find a brain between anyone’s ears to save his life, with a side of fierce protective energy towards those beneath his command. Loqi wraps himself around Noctis so firmly when they’re outside it’s hard to believe they weren’t born as twins; Caligo treats  _ him  _ like his own flesh and blood at points, for all that he’ll deny it afterwards.

Aranea would be the big sister of the group, Biggs and Wedge her younger brothers, if Noctis was still thinking in family terms. All of them are razor sharp around the edges, tired and broken down in the worst ways, but still holding true to themselves and each other. 

They roll up to the site of where Aldercapt will give his yearly speech, followed by Noctis giving his. ‘Proof of life’ they call these moments, where Noctis gets paraded around like a show pony and the Lucians back home get to see how their Prince has grown and is still alive. It’s why Loqi is so very big on appearances -  _ “you never know if your father could be watching. Do you think he wants to see his slob of a son on national TV, looking like he’s gotten into a fight with a Tonberry and lost?”  _ \- and why Caligo is so very territorial when it comes to spaces between them and the reporters.

Loqi glances over at him, and nods once. He nods back, takes in a deep breath, and slips into that place in his head where he can smile and nod and look as untouchable as the stars above.

The doors open. The cameras flash. Caligo steps out, every inch the proud Captain of Aldercapt’s forces, and Noctis slides out, Loqi behind, one hand on his back. 

This is an image they’ve worked on cultivating too; that Noctis only allows one to touch him, and it is Loqi Tummult, who has dedicated himself to guarding Noctis as fiercely as an Amicitia guards their King. It’s one the public eagerly laps up, for although the loathe the Empire, they adore Noctis, and the fact that one of the Empire’s lapdogs would go so far for a foreign Prince speaks like something out of a romance novel. 

Noctis can only imagine what they think of him back home, to step so easily into Loqi’s reach and remain there even when there is gunfire or swords being brandished in his direction. Or what they think of Loqi, who steps in between Noctis and the threat easily enough, cuts them down, and all without pausing to interrupt Noctis’ speech. It’s kind of impressive, actually, and a little scary. Especially since were it not for Loqi, nobody would be inclined to save him. He would bleed out there in front of the crowd, and all Aldercapt would do is call for someone to move his body out of the way.

Today’s speech is more of Aldercapt’s usual drivel - unification and peace and ‘glad everyone could be with us today’ yadda yadda yadda, new age of glory, etc etc and so forth. Noctis would fall asleep if he were allowed, but he’s standing behind the Emperor, waiting for his opportunity to speak, so he doesn’t. He keeps a passive expression on his face, claps with everyone when Aldercapt is done, and when the Emperor turns and bows almost mockingly to him, bows back and thanks the Emperor before stepping up to the podium.

He hasn’t even opened his  _ mouth  _ when the first bullet rushes towards him, and right on cue, Loqi’s sword emerges to block it, the blond soldier sneering down into the crowd. 

“Good morning,” Noctis says smoothly, filtering out the sound of Loqi going to work. “And thank you for joining His Excellency and I on this momentous occasion of good fortune.”

He gets through his brief ‘hello-how-are-you-back-home-please-don’t-do-anything-reckless’ without further incident, and wraps up neatly. He bows and hands it off to the Emperor, and lets Loqi guide him off-stage. Once it’s only them and the MT guards, Noctis turns his head to survey the damage. Loqi’s cheek is cut, oozing blood in a steady gash, and he can feel the man leaning more to his right than his left.

“Lucky hit, huh,” Noctis murmurs as they enter the car to drive back to Noctis’ home. There are rags and a bottle of alcohol in the side compartment, because this isn’t the first time this has happened, and doubtless it won’t be the last. Loqi’s already stripped his armor around the wounds off, leaning back into the plush seat of the vehicle with a sigh as Noctis settles between his thighs and begins to clean him up. 

Once, Loqi had asked him ‘why’. And Noctis had looked up at him and simply said  _ because I wish to.  _

They hadn’t discussed it again. “Anywhere else I need to know of?” Noctis asks, pulling back from the now-clean wound on his side. It isn’t big, but it’s a bleeder. It’s sealed shut for the moment, but doubtless it’ll crack open here in a bit. Once they’re back home they can get bandages on it, but for now Loqi’s shirt will have to suffer.

Loqi pulls his shirt down, and starts tugging his armor back over. “For now, that will do.” He doesn’t thank Noctis, but he doesn’t have to. Noctis knows his actions are appreciated, the same Loqi’s are those days when his body decides to throw nothing but pain at him, and it’s difficult to even breathe. 

In the ten plus years it’s been since the Marilith attack happened and all this started, they’ve learned about each other well, especially considering they’re meant to be enemies. Hell, some days they’re downright domestic, with Loqi choosing to spend a night at the manor rather than retreat for his own home, standing beside Noctis at the counter, quietly humming some song or another as they fix dinner.

A couple of times they’ve even shared a bed, but that was early on when Noctis was young and the assassination attempts were much worse. Luna and Ravus weren’t around much then either, but for different reasons, and Loqi had only just begun turning from someone Noctis was actively afraid of to someone he could at least trust with his open back.

“Ten years, huh,” Noctis mutters as he tucks away cloth and alcohol. “Wonder what it’s like back home.”

“Quiet, for the most part.”

Noctis looks up. Loqi’s attention is fixed on a point outside. “Insomnia still looks the same, save a few new buildings, and the flags bearing Niflheim’s crest. There are guards now and again, but for the most part our MTs stay out of your home. The Crownsguard are more numerous - last time I was there, there was practically one on every corner. Though that may have been because we were there.”

“Probably, if Cor still runs the Crownsguard.” He barely remembers his uncle anymore. But he recalls the voice well enough if he closes his eyes, can remember how the surly man would always seem exasperated when he got called away to deal with business. It’s a good memory, for all it’s age.

“Yes. General Leonis is… quite the capable fighter. A pity I didn’t get to see more of him. But we were in and out within a few hours, so I didn’t really get a detailed look around. Still, your Insomnia is still the glittering ivory tower it once was, for all that there is no Wall now, and Niflheim controls the flow of goods.”

They fall back into silence easily, after. The ride isn’t long, but Noctis’ mind is squarely back home now, a million miles away, and so it seems to take much longer than it actually does. When they finally pull up to the house, it’s Loqi’s hissed breath that tells him something is wrong.

“What?” he asks, and then realizes what he’s seeing as he turns.

Aranea Highwind stands in front of his door, looking amused as she balances a fair sized package on her hip. It’s dressed up in black cloth, a familiar emblem on it’s black, and Noctis chokes.

“No way,” he says, nearly dizzy with giddiness. “No  _ way!” _

“Ugh, that woman,” Loqi mutters, and shifts so he’s in front of Noctis. “It could be a trap. Just let me handle it.”

Right. Still, if it’s  _ real-- _

The Empire has never allowed him correspondence to his homeland outside of the brief TV interviews or other Emperor-sanctioned outings. Even letters weren’t allowed. 

But Aranea Highwind is nothing if not loyal to her own people, and at some point Noctis came to fall under that umbrella. She patrols the skies above Insomnia often enough, and out of all of them, she would be the one daring enough, bold enough to march up the steps to the Citadel and demand every gift Regis has never been allowed to give him. 

“What game are you playing now, woman?” Loqi demands as they come out of the car, Noctis’ knees feeling weak. “A test of trust, is it?”

“Wow, that hurts, blondie,” Aranea clutches a hand to her breast like he’s dealt her a killing blow. “And after I come bearing gifts for His Sulkiness, too.”

“I don’t sulk,” Noctis says automatically. “I  _ brood.” _

Aranea grins, shaking her head. “You sulk, brat. And your royal father would, and did, agree with me.”

The reminder of his father has a queer tightness wrapping around Noctis’ throat. “Is that…”

“It is. Fresh delivery, and everything inside hot off the plate.”

“There’s  _ food?” _

“Mainly of the Galahadian variety. Turns out the Kingsglaive have missed you nearly as much as your dad. Between them and the cooks, I could scarcely get out without the box overflowing.”

Noctis turns his head to hide the burning behind his eyes. Nyx Ulric and his cohorts are one of the few he recalls now, the softness of their smiles and the cheeky impishness behind their tricks over Drautos. He hadn’t known much of them as a kid, but what he did he’d loved. It’s nice to know they felt the same.

“What’s the price?” Loqi demands. “I doubt you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart, Highwind.”

Aranea rolls her eyes and fixes Loqi with a  _ look  _ then, one Noctis would miss were it not for the fact that such looks between them have been happening more and more frequently. Between them, and between Loqi and Caligo, and Aranea and Caligo. Like they’re communicating over a discussion they’ve had a thousand times before.

“...Fine,” Loqi mutters at last. “Get inside. We’ll discuss this later.”

Aranea hands the box over, ruffling his hair. “They miss you, kid. Don’t think for a second the whole country isn’t weeping over you morning, noon and night. You should have seen ‘em last night, all prepared for today like it was some grand festival. Hells, you nearly the Draconian in terms of popularity.”

Noctis runs fingers over the silk he remembers from his youth, and this time when his eyes burn, he doesn’t do anything but smile. “Thank you so much,” he croaks, and gets another smile for his troubles. He sits in the receiving room as Loqi and Aranea vanish into the kitchens, the sounds of pots and pans being shuffled around hiding whatever they’re talking about. Not like Noctis is paying any attention.

The first whiff of spice has him choking, because he would remember Ignis’ cooking even if he was blind, deaf and dumb. His advisor has taken care with his dishes, wrapping them so they won’t be influenced by the Galahadian foods, which are dry and unwrapped, tags identifying who made what with little notes plastered to them all.

_ “HIYA PRINCE” - Crowe Altius _ __   
  


_ “Noctis, are they treating you well? You looked way too thin at that last interview. This will help!” - Pelna Khara _

_ “This dish is gonna blow your mind kid. And also your taste buds, so you might want a glass of water on hand.” - Nyx Ulric. _

And there are so many more. Those are just the top three besides Ignis’ own, which is sadly lacking a note. But Noctis can imagine all the things he’d say, the things he’d ask, the worry that would line his face. 

_ I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to cry.  _

And then he spots the plushie, Regis’ handwriting on the note beside it.

_ Oh fucking hell I’m gonna cry.  _

He presses a hand to his mouth as he picks up the stuffed Carbuncle plush, tears flowing freely from his eyes. The smell of  _ home  _ washes over him then, and his father’s cologne hits his brain like one of Titan’s own fists. He can’t stop crying even if he wanted to.

_ “My son, I hope these gifts find you in good health. We miss you at home. We remain safe within Insomnia, so please don’t fret. I only ask that you continue to stand tall, and that you give my thanks to Loqi Tummult for his protection of you these many years.” _

He curls around the plush as he sobs, the grief feeling as fresh and raw as the day he arrived. Ten years, and a single box is all it takes to bring him down. 

He’s grateful when neither Loqi nor Aranea come running at the sound of his wild animal keening, and even more grateful when, after an eternity of being unable to do anything but lock himself up and sob, he comes back to find a steaming cup of tea sitting in front of him, waiting patiently. 

He must have been out of it for a while, because the smells of cooking are coming from the kitchen. Someone’s taken the food out of the box and put it in the fridge, although they’ve left all the little notes behind for him to read and cherish. There are a few other gifts that aren’t food items, little figures or blankets or clothes. Even if it hurts, he takes these to his room along with his cup of tea and squirrels them away in the safe he bought several years back under Loqi’s suggestion, wiping his eyes and settling down onto the bed with his tea. 

An hour later he’s feeling a little less emotionally sore, and brave enough to finally head back downstairs. Loqi has put away the armor for the evening, dressed down in a simple pair of slacks and cotton shirt, while Aranea sits at the table, sniping at him about something. She glances at as he enters and smiles.

She makes a noise of surprise that has Loqi glancing over when he walks over and hugs her. “Thank you,” is all he says, but it’s all he needs to say. 

“Aww kid, you’re gonna ruin my image,” Aranea teases, but her hug is soft. He lets her go and turns to Loqi.

“Need a hand?”

Loqi shrugs. “I’ve got it for tonight. It’s just basic stew. Hardly anything special.”

“Special enough.” He bumps shoulders with Loqi, tired, but undeniably happier than he’s been in a while. “I’ll do the dishes then.”

“If you insist.”

It feels like he’s missed something important, something shifting behind him while he was locked up in his grief. He can tell it by the way Aranea and Loqi watch him even if they think he isn’t paying attention. He doubts it’s anything malevolent, so he lets them watch, and tries to think of something to send back home - or if he even should send anything. What could he give back to them besides himself that they would want or need?

“Hey kid. Feel like taking a trip with me tomorrow?” Aranea asks suddenly, drawing his attention out of the sink. “Well, me, Loqi and Caligo. But mostly me.”

“Uh, is that even allowed?”

“Sure. So?”

“Sure, then. Where are we--”

“Oh, just around a bit. Couple of quick little errands before the main event. Nothing you need to really worry about.”

Noctis nods. “Sure. It’ll be nice to get out for a bit anyhow.”

Aranea’s smile seems razor-sharp beneath the light, a dark satisfaction twisting behind her gaze. “Then it’s settled.”

_**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0** _

_ “So, we’re really going through with this?” _

_ “You gonna just sit there and pretend like you’re not already chomping at the bit, pretty boy?” _

_ Loqi’s reply gets lost as a sound - true grief given form - echoes through the house, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He forces himself to grip the countertop, and not go interrupting the mourning Noctis desperately needs. _

_ Aranea’s eyes are sympathetic. “Caligo’s with me,” she says, softly. “And Ravus and Lunafreya are already in Insomnia under ‘Oracle’ business.” _

_ “What’s her brother’s excuse?” _

_ “Checking up on security for the Empire. Sniffing around for traitors. Visiting his sister.” _

_ Loqi’s next breath comes out shaky. “If we get caught--” _

_ “Who’s gonna catch us, Tummult? The two big players are already within safe harbor. Noctis is the third, and the Emperor’s done with him anyway. Lucis has enough weapons and manpower now to take the Empire to task, and Accord’s already offered their own aid by sabotaging the shipments as they come in. You, me and Uldor make up a majority of power within Aldercapt’s fleet, and if I go my men will follow. Everyone below you is a backstabbing coward, and everyone below Uldor is too busy trying to make a name for themselves to care about who gets hit.” _

_ “And you think Lucis will trust us?” Loqi snaps. “Offer us sanctuary despite us spiriting their Prince away all those years ago?” _

_ “They’ve already done so. It’s why I left, and why I only just got back a few hours ago. We’ve hashed it out - if we bend knee to Noctis formally, he’ll accept us and offer us sanctuary against the Empire. And between us, Lucis and Accordo, without their hostages or anything to hold over Regis’ head, these walls will buckle. I’m not pulling this out of my ass.” _

_ Loqi lets out a rough breath. “I know you aren’t, Highwind. But that doesn’t make it any less…” _

_ “Terrifying?” She snorts. “Just this morning I watched you bat some bastard like a cat with yarn between it’s paws, and every interview before you’ve stood between that boy and death despite Aldercapt’s orders. Took every punishment they gave you and came back for more. You really gonna claim  _ **_this_ ** _ is the scariest part?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ She shakes her head. “Think of it like a jump,” she says. “We have the landing, the target, and the parachute. All we gotta do is go for it.” _

_ “What if Lucis doesn’t win?” he asks. “They won’t sit idle, Aranea. Especially given we’re taking the Crystal with us.” _

_ “No, but they’ll be wounded enough to back off for a few years, which should buy us time enough to finish whatever they try to start. Just trust me on this, okay? We’ve got a clean shot, a good chance, and Regis is ready to kill once his boy is behind those walls. Hell, I’m pretty sure everyone in Insomnia is ready to kill once that boy is back there. You should have seen them. I wasn’t lying about the ‘being as popular as the Draconian’ thing.” _

_ “I didn’t think you were.” He’d seen it himself, back when he visited. Just the beginnings of a smoulder, but behind their eyes lurked a promise of violence. They wanted their Prince back, and they wanted their freedom and the Empire gone. A perfect combination for rebellion. _

_ A rebellion Aranea and Ravus have been cultivating, and Lunafreya has been helping to hide.  _

_ If Loqi is being honest with himself, he hasn’t been loyal to the Empire since the first time he watched Noctis take a bullet to the side mid-speech and  _ **_keep talking_ ** _ like nothing was wrong. He’d been fourteen at the time. _

_ “You know,” Aranea says, perhaps sensing weakness. “They call you his Shield, over there in Insomnia. ‘Prince Noctis’ Golden Shield’ - you stand out. They hate the Empire, but you’re strange to them. It’s putting the Amicitia into fits.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “Because you’re doing a job the Amicitia have been bred for, and you don’t even know it. You’re showcasing loyalty like you were born for it. Leonis wants to induct you into the Crownsguard. Clarus is talking about putting Gladio alongside you and making Noctis take two Shields.” _

_ Loqi snorts. “The brat barely accepted me.” _

_ “He likes you. Trusts you. He doesn’t fight you when you’re out there, in public. I know some of it’s a mask, but you can tell who he likes and who he doesn’t by the way he addresses them. He calls everyone else by title but you. You’re always ‘Loqi’.” _

_ Loqi’s cheeks warm. “And?” _

_ Aranea rolls her eyes. “And where he goes, you’ll follow, right?” _

_ Yes, Loqi thinks but doesn’t say. Of course. Always. _

_ “So?” _

_ Breathe in, breathe out. He thinks of the bullet today, of the bullets of the past, of the present wrapped in black cloth. Of the pardon Aranea holds in her pocket, straight from the King himself on the condition he bend knee to Noctis. _

_ “Fine,” he says. “But ask Noctis first.” _

_ “Deal.” _


End file.
